Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Really badly timed play review.
It was about a month ago that I went to the theeaighter to see an actual play for the first time in about a decade (Thanks to TheKateness). When I was at uni, I was doing a Theatre and Film major as part of my degree, and took myself off to the theeaighter on a fairly regular basis. I hadn't realised how much I missed doing that until I went to see Black Medea at the Belvoir St Theatre.
I went during the last week of the current run, so I can't urge you to see it now - but I can urge you to see it the next time it's being performed. The play was a series of physical, emotional, and psychological hammer blows.
Black Medea is a reworking of the play by Euripides. A young indigenous woman chooses her man over her land, only to find herself trapped in a loveless and brutal marriage, with her son the beating heart of the man she married. So what does she do to escape? Takes away her husband's heart.
The set was amazing - the front rows of the audience almost sitting on the stage, which was covered in a black sand. Curved walls of corrugated iron on and over two thirds of the stage, which, when lit differently, were either the walls of a mine, the open night sky over the desert, or the oppressive urban shell in which Medea finds herself. The centre of the stage held a simple table with three chairs, where most of the action took place.
Margaret Harvey, in the title role, was strong and passionate and trapped and hurt and terrifying in her revenge. It was an incredible feat that she could make Medea, so terrifying, so hateful, so seemingly selfish, a character for whom you have sympathy. She wears the classic red dress of the femme fatale, walks the land barefoot and proud.
Justine Saunders, as the chorus, was spellbinding. Dressed in a neat but battered two piece and coat, barefoot, slowly removing her hat pins and hat, she embraced us into the world of the play, telling us we aren't going to like the ride, but pulling us insistently in after her.
Aaron Pedersen's character of Jason goes through the most obvious arc of change, and this change was beautifully expressed through wardrobe. When the play begins, he is dressed in a full suit, briefcase at his side. As he disintergrates, as the alcoholism and abuse escalate, this facade slips. His desperation to be tied to something other than his job, to be part of the land, in a way he's never known, are expressed through his losing his suit, and finally becoming barefoot. But too late.
I could talk about the use of lighting and sound, but I've reached the end of my half remembered skills from my cut short uni degree. If and when the play is staged again, I'm sure to be seeing it, and I hope to have piqued your interest to see it also!
I went during the last week of the current run, so I can't urge you to see it now - but I can urge you to see it the next time it's being performed. The play was a series of physical, emotional, and psychological hammer blows.
Black Medea is a reworking of the play by Euripides. A young indigenous woman chooses her man over her land, only to find herself trapped in a loveless and brutal marriage, with her son the beating heart of the man she married. So what does she do to escape? Takes away her husband's heart.
The set was amazing - the front rows of the audience almost sitting on the stage, which was covered in a black sand. Curved walls of corrugated iron on and over two thirds of the stage, which, when lit differently, were either the walls of a mine, the open night sky over the desert, or the oppressive urban shell in which Medea finds herself. The centre of the stage held a simple table with three chairs, where most of the action took place.
Margaret Harvey, in the title role, was strong and passionate and trapped and hurt and terrifying in her revenge. It was an incredible feat that she could make Medea, so terrifying, so hateful, so seemingly selfish, a character for whom you have sympathy. She wears the classic red dress of the femme fatale, walks the land barefoot and proud.
Justine Saunders, as the chorus, was spellbinding. Dressed in a neat but battered two piece and coat, barefoot, slowly removing her hat pins and hat, she embraced us into the world of the play, telling us we aren't going to like the ride, but pulling us insistently in after her.
Aaron Pedersen's character of Jason goes through the most obvious arc of change, and this change was beautifully expressed through wardrobe. When the play begins, he is dressed in a full suit, briefcase at his side. As he disintergrates, as the alcoholism and abuse escalate, this facade slips. His desperation to be tied to something other than his job, to be part of the land, in a way he's never known, are expressed through his losing his suit, and finally becoming barefoot. But too late.
I could talk about the use of lighting and sound, but I've reached the end of my half remembered skills from my cut short uni degree. If and when the play is staged again, I'm sure to be seeing it, and I hope to have piqued your interest to see it also!
